A continuation.

Classes have started up again and so have the long boring subway rides. I realised I had some unfinished business.

You may want to read this first if you want to understand what's going on below.

I think they always knew that if they left any kind of safety net they may have taken advantage of it and gone back. Since both my parents did a fair amount of business and personal travel back in those days we had bank accounts scattered throughout various hubs in Asia-Pacific. Thathi is always amazed by how quickly we were able to close out all the accounts and have all our other affairs ready to go. I think the entire process from start to finish was only six months?

So we left and it was far from easy. I don't think I ever asked my parents what they expected when we came, but I know whatever their expectations were, our first year euthanised those expectations completely. After trying my hand at moving to London the respect I have for what my parents did has increased. There were times when I felt desperate and I would think back to our earlier months in Canada. As a single person I was stressed out and I couldn't wrap my head around how difficult it would be with a young family. But they succeeded and our life here is equal in some aspects to the one we had back in Sri Lanka. No one regrets coming here.

So all those months ago when I was taking the piss put of that person's blogpost Thathi turned to Ammi with conviction and said, "I guess we'll be able to go home for good soon." Ammi gave him the usual rant about Tamils being marginalised etc (whole other blogpost kids. It's something along the lines of a Theodore Kaczynski style manifesto). But she seemingly agreed and I called bullshit.

You see, my parents? They sometimes forget what they were like when they were young and tell people that coming to Canada was about safety concerns. They couldn't deal with the suicide bombs and the general tension. Sure. It must've sucked, but it's also a steaming pile of crap.

I think you've gathered by now (especially those of you that know the parents) they're not your run of the mill Sri Lankan parents or even Sri Lankans for that matter. Regardless of if there was a war or not, they still would've hightailed the shit out of there.

Growing up I used to think they were cowards for leaving. I didn't really start to understand what their real motivations for leaving were until I went back to work in Colombo, that experience is very different from being a tourist. After the novelty of the first year wore off I felt like I was suffocating. The culture clash was too difficult for me to deal with and I finally understood why Ammi was happy that I don't have any Sri Lankan friends and Thathi was stoked when I decided working in Colombo wasn't for me. They left Sri Lanka because they wanted to, not because they had to. Both of them were being stifled to a breaking point and I know that feeling well. Whenever I try to explain my own restlessness to other people I can barely put it into words. Toronto is my home and there's no other place in the world that will ever take that place, but it doesn't mean I want to live here forever.

And that's the same reason my parents left. So no, they won't be flocking to Colombo with the other retirement aged members of the diaspora. (Lately there's been barely a peep of such talk.) I also guess this is the same reason that the two of them have been so damn supportive of all my harebrained schemes. The next of which may or may not involve a move to the States, Australia or Korea.

Who knows? I definitely don't that's for sure.

Let's go home!

I haven't written a "real" blog post in awhile. Just don't seem to have the time these days between summer school, work and all the seasonal social obligations. The only time I can actually punch something out is when I'm on the subway. I've been pecking away at this for the last little while and I have no idea if I'll ever get around to finishing it, but it's a partially written post that was thoughtlessly written with my two thumbs on the iphone. I haven't read it over so you're warned...

More often than not these days our conversations around the dinner table always lead to the same thing: Ammi and Thathi retiring to Sri Lanka. I can't say that I'm completely opposed to the idea. The properties that they've been looking at are infinitely more conveniently located than where my grandmother lives. Plus centralised a/c is always ftw in gawdawful Colombo. Generally speaking though when the old couple appeal to me on important issues like proximity to other family members, 'hot spots' and wtf to do with the dog, my wont is to stare back blankly and blink a few times. This has rankled the old man into fits and caused Ammi her fair share of consternation as well. In their minds it would seem that Aiya and I don't give a shit what happens to them so long as they don't move in with either of us during their Golden Years. If I have the good fortune to have Aiya around (which these days is not the case due to the acquisition of a new femme) we will roll our eyes, hold our tongues and display a level of restraint hitherto unknown.

That all changed recently though. I was catching up on my feeds in the kitchen. I happened to start reading a blogpost that someone had written about the scattered Sri Lankan diaspora returning home. It was so asinine, ill conceived and ludicrous I couldn't help but read out a few of the more 'passionate bits' out loud for public ridicule. Ammi and Thathi responded in typical fashion. Mostly because they are generally aware of the writer's status as being an unbearable tosser and also because they don't really view themselves as being your run of the mill conflict-fleeing-Sri Lankans.

I suppose this is something I've meant to write about for some time and nevar could really be arsed to do. Most of you know in bits and pieces what I think and how I feel about the circumstances surrounding our migration as a family. I've never really sat down and gone through the whole thing in any cohesive manner so I guess this is as much for me as it is for you? In light of all the political events that have been unfolding it's unsurprising that I my thoughts on the subject are courted more frequently than in the past.

So here goes?

I'll start from the point that most people find relevant and I feel the need to add the disclaimer that not only do I personally feel it is irrelevant I also don't give a shit. In short, Thathi is Sinhalese and Ammi is Tamil. I know right? It's horrifying.

We lost our home in '83 due to this disgusting twist of fate. They found out that Ammi was Tamil through the voters list and our neighbours torched the house. We knew it was coming and our immediate family left to Thathi's parents place in Ratmalana. Amamma and Ammi's younger siblings weren't so fortunate. Amamma was a well known doctor in the area, her house was razed. She and Punchi mammah ended up in a refugee camp. My aunt saw the worst of it. She was on her way in from the city, saw people being burned alive. I know she used to sometimes wake up screaming from nightmares well into the 1990s. Obviously this is what happened to countless other Tamils in Colombo in 83 so it's really not that special. Needless to say that was the last year any of my Tamil family members ever voted.

Ammi says that one of her earliest memories as a child were houses burning and being hidden in a cupboard. She was very young when the first race riots broke out in the 50s. This whole being Tamil/Sinhalese thing was never an issue within our family, even at the point when Sri Lanka gained independence. My maternal grandfather wouldn't let his children speak Tamil at home and neither would my paternal grandfather. Actually scratch that, speaking the vernacular in either home was forbidden by both families by my great grandparents. I come from a long line of brown sahibs. Don't get me wrong though, I think both the Tamil and sinhalese sides would die if they were termed imperialists. My family were long time LSSP supporters and believed in a free independent Sri Lanka for all Sri Lankans.

I suppose it sounds so cheesey to say this now, but the older generation believed this with great vehemence. The next generation didn't quite get it right. At least not the Sinhalese generation. I learned what marginalization was from them when I made my first visit to Sri Lanka as a teenager.

Ammi's entire family eventually migrated either to Canada, Australia or the UK. I have no male Tamil family left except for 2 who married well established sinhalese women. We were originally slated to go to Australia. Ammi was petrified that we'd get killed for being half Tamil, it didn't make much sense for us to go but they put in their paperwork and Canada was the first to get back to us. In the 1950s my paternal grandfather nearly came to Canada with his young family. I think this was always meant to be our home.

The immigration officer who interviewed us tried to dissuade them from leaving. He didn't think they'd last more than six months in Toronto. Granted looking back my parents haven't got the foggiest clue as to how we made it. He was so intrigued by our family that he actually made a concentrated effort to keep tabs on our progress for close to 15 years. I think that he eventually made it to Cyprus and found himself a wife. That's when we lost touch with him. He's now actually a director in in the refugee and immigration department in Ottawa. It's a shame that Ammi's not as much of a pack rat as Thathi & I because she actually tossed out his letters.

Haterade.

My general hate for M.I.A. has been well documented. See exhibits A, B and C . Suffice it to say, M.I.A? No likey. It's not because I'm a music snob. (Because shh, I am.) I have readily (and publicly) admitted to having more than a few guilty pleasures ie Justin Timberlake (see flickr -- specifically the photoset from Wasaga). I like his album I will not lie, but I like it for its airheaded goodness.

As I remarked to Tool, as soon as I listen to his lyrics I feel guilty, because usually I tune out what he's actually saying "If I told you you were beautiful/ Would you date me on the regular?" Who talks like this? And for ffs am I 15?

But no. I will not hate on Justin because I take him for what he is a pop musician who knows he's a pop musician.

Enter M.I.A.

Perhaps if she or her label were not marketing her as the most innovative thing since a monkey picked up a set of cymbals and bashed them together, I may not hate her. Her production is slick. I like the beat, I like the sound of her voice, and yes, she has all the makings of falling into the guilty pleasure category right along with Justin. Her lyrics suck just as much as his do "don’t order me about/ I’m an outlaw from the badland." What a badass eh? Only a graduate of Central St.Martins could be so hardcore yo. She sort of reminds me of a UK version of, dare I say it, Avril Lavigne. But with just a smidge more street cred. (To give credit where it's due, M.I.A. is a great visual artist.)

If I found Avril's music infectious, I could add her to my list of guilty pleasures, but she sucketh. M.I.A. on the other hand has me torn. I really want to like her, because she's sort of like me, minus the LTTE father etc (why quibble). But more so because she's a product of the diaspora than anything else. If you watch the above video you can see the slickness of the production and the kids running around (I'm a fan of the little gyrating boy in the shorts). But wtf is up with the last frame? Yes can we please randomly throw in the LTTE symbol at the end of a video that has absolutely nothing to do with their cause? Thx.

M.I.A. you make pop music, which you call "dancehall" to a puritan it isn't even really that. (*cough* like how Avril Lavigne is not punk, or even "light" rock, she is pop.) Stop with the fake politics, it ain't going to sell records. If you didn't take yourself so seriously, I can guarantee you a top spot in my very large collection of guilty pleasures.

Moving along.

Now these are Sri Lankan musicians at their best. If we diasporic types were to put together an ensemble like this, I hands down could be the fat chick with the beads, slothy the fellow who tries to rap in English (since I hear he can't speak Sinhala), and drac as the Anarkali-a-like. I'm sure he can shake what his momma gave him after a few drinks, and by all accounts if he grew his hair again nothing would be amiss. He's got the slender girlish figure of an 18 year old already. Which leaves that guy with the curly-ish hair left. Aiya's too fat, so any other takers?

How could another Sri Lankan be so cruel??

I'm going to miss you too.
All good things have to come to an end eventually I guess. What exactly is a "day job" anyways? And Nirmala how could you be so cruel? It's just downright mean spirited. I don't know how good controller.controller's going to be now that she's gone, considering she was like their heart and soul right there. The trappings of being incredibly kick ass musicians who make no money I guess?

And I know, they announced the split in October. Is it wrong that I live a hermit like existence under a rock? Will you not let me grieve in peace?

I bid you adieu and wait with bated breath for the day when you guys decide to reunite. The Toronto music scene is just not going to be the same without you, nay the Canadian one won't be the same either. Melodramatic? Maybe? But you know it's true.

Boo.

And in other news, that piece of shit "musician" M.I.A. is still "recording."

There is evidently no justice at all in this world.

I leave you with what could have been.

What? Me? Pretentious? stfu.

Princess Di just called, and she wants her look back.

I know good pretension when I see it, it's a gift really. Okay, maybe it's not a gift, it's probably more like how a natural liar can spot another liar. (NB: I am an excellent liar-spotter.) Truth be told I am a pretentious bastard, and I come from a long line of them, (not bastards, but we do have a good amount of those in the family tree. And that's another post). Although this is old news, I recently found out that my stodgy old academic institution is #18 on the list of most pretentious universities in the world. Take my word for it, north of the 49th you'd be hard pressed to find a larger bunch of self-absorded, arrogant, asses bandied together in the name of academia.

Now that you know my credentials (and I'm in a giving mood now, sparing you tales from the private school I attended) it is undeniable that I.know.pretension.

Couple this with the other obvious cause for "otherness" (being the browness) and you have a recipe for the most stuck up minority that Toronto has to offer. I was reading this morning's paper when I -- with great glee -- found this article. Not only does it mention an up and coming indie group that features a Sri Lankan, but it addresses the issue of Toronto's white, and very often pretentious, music scene. I would seriously love to see it diversify, I am a music snob, but what is good music if it's not available to the masses? Accessibility is the key, if that means selling your single and having it appear in a car commercial, then so be it.

I like to play a little game called "spot the brown" when I go to concerts, (and other large public spaces). It's always interesting to take a look around and realise that you're the only ethnic minority in a room full of white faces and a smattering of black ones. This doesn't bother me, neither does it bother me that I'm practically the only brown person in the majority of my classes, or that I was the only Sri Lankan in high school (which is crazy when you think of how multicultural our fair city is.)

What does bother me is when people can't see past the otherness. Yes. I'm brown. I listen to indie music. Get over it. If anything, I find myself having to justify my musical tastes not to those who share it (aka white people) but with my other minority friends, brown or otherwise.

I have never felt like this, wanting to be white I mean. (Ya I know, that girl's Indian, and I hate the Indian comparison too, but wth, it serves its purpose for the moment.) One drawback of often being the only brown one in the room, is the awkwardness that it leads to later. For example, people are more likely to remember the "exotic" one with the "beautiful" sanskrit name more than the aforementioned exotic-sanskrit-name-bearer would ever remember the blonde in the corner.

Being an other makes people remember you. This isn't a phenomenon that's limited to me. Thathi works for a fairly large bank, most of his colleagues are white, he's got the same problem. Aiya's a chef, and not a dishwasher, there are no classically trained French chefs in this city who are Sri Lankan. Ammi? She's probably got it worse than any of us, she's in advertising, everyone is old, white and male.

There have been many an occassion when one or another of us has been out in the general public and some random person pops out of nowhere and asks us if we remember them from such and such a place. Fortunately we're all really good liars, we all fake it as if we remember. But really? We so don't.

And that?

That's the closest I've ever become to wishing I was white, so there would be an equal social playing field. Those white folks just always seem to have the upper hand.

I just want to buy a melon.

Check out youtube for more of the same goodness

Can't say that I'm a big rum drinker, but I am a fan of Malibu Rum, mainly because of their "Seriously Easy Going" campaign. For those of you who've had the pleasure of viewing some of the spots you'll know they're pure genius. My favourite one is "Road Rage" but unfortunately even with its superior greatness, youtube doesn't seem to have it, but "Melon" is still an indicator of how witty the campaign is.

UPDATE!! I just found the road rage spot.

So what's the deal-e-o? My cousin is heading out to Jamaica for 6 months on Friday. Although I am feeling a slight twinge of jealousy, I'm not in an overt tizzy as yet, call me crazy but the Caribbean/West Indies (are they the same thing? My geography skills are as good as my math ones) doesn't really appeal to me. Perhaps it's because I spent the better part of my pre-pubescent life being mistaken for West Indian and a significant part of my teenage years purposely misleading people into thinking I was West Indian. (That is a story left for another time, one most probably to be shared with my therapist, when I hit my mid-life crisis.)

Whatever said and done my non-West Indian ass will definitely be at the airport bright and early on Friday morning to drop my cousin off. As aiya and I have speculated she will most likely come back fluent in Patois, wearing neon green spandex with a sash that says "West Moreland Dance Hall Queen 2006" on it, holding a box of custom monogramed dominoes, demanding ox tail stew in a generally surly manner, and well versed enough in the steel drums to give lessons to inner city youth in Scarborough - all of this will take place at the airport when she comes back next February.

Damn. I love the airport. Who knows, at the rate I'm going at maybe JVIS was right? There is a chance that I just might end up as an immigration officer at Pearson.

Late Breaking News

So. Um. I'm back?

Two months in Sri Lanka.

Worked once again with the most brilliant people I've ever met, and most probably that I'll ever meet period.

Met a really dodgy Auditor. (A Clyde to my Bonnie if you will. Or is it a Bonnie to my Clyde? Maybe even a Butch Cassidy to my Sundance Kid? A Thelma to my Louise? And now? All this outlaw talk? It's just left me confused.)

Discovered I have an Alcoholic Cousin Who Has An Affinity For Vodka. (Here after ACWHAAFV). Confirmed the general suspicion that it is indeed the Tamil side of the family who knows how to party.

Watched another (more sane) cousin walk down the aisle and felt a bit queasy because, my God. We're getting old! Time's not waiting up for me and I still feel like I'm 15.

Met a friend from Toronto in Colombo and was told that I had acquired a slight Sri Lankan accent. Nearly died. My worst fear realised. Full blame rests on the shoulders of the Auditor and the ACWHAAFV. Have attempted to drop said accent but it creeps up ever so often, especially when accidentally blurting out "yeah men."

Conned an entire city into believing that I am indeed a good person with morals and a level head on my shoulder. (Yeah, is your stomach cramping from laughter too?). The farce my friends is now officially international.

Engaged in some suspect behaviour that made me feel like a bonafide Sri Lankan (and not a hyphenated one) for the first time in my entire life.

Came home 3 weeks ago. Incidentally on Canada Day, couldn't have orchestrated a better day to land.

So, that kind of sums up all the main points of the last two months pretty well I think? Suprisingly succinct isn't it? Have no fear though, I'm still long winded and verbose. Just really lazy today that's all.

This Just In
Very little time these days for leisure writing children. This naturally can be a problem when one does not have any leisure to speak of. I'm in the thick of summer school. And yeah, I ask myself every day wtf I was thinking when I decided to sign up for not one but TWO courses. As a result there are a limited amount of subjects I can blog about coherently. (But wait, when was I ever coherent?)


- Yet another grainey photo that proves I'd be an amazing spy!But this is in the name of fashion, Robert Best from Project Runway

My spare time has been spent on the following: Enlightenment philosophy and its role in political theory and the concept of lost love in the collected works of Anton Chekhov. Why such light hearted and fun subjects you ask? Papers my friend. Papers. That's all I have time for. Well. And reality TV of course. I outed my dirty TV habits awhile ago and you're already well aware of my penchant for Bollywood and collegiate humour (more specifically anything with a Wilson, Stiller or Ferrell). And now with the new season of Project Runway airing a bit earlier than usual, do you understand why I haven't been blogging? I mean, that's all the justification you need. (That and the fact that Zizou took up most of my time when I came home. But we won't talk about that just yet.) I'm behind Robert, because, um how freaking cute is he? The little pot belly and tank-top combo? Loving it! And, I'm waiting like everyone else for Vincent to have Woody Allen-esque breakdown on national television.

Well my pets, hopefully my updates will be more frequent, but I wouldn't count on it (due to the aforementioned laziness.) First let's see if I even survive this coming week. That's right! Ammi's at home and Hezbollah's got nothing on her.

The Lord can take me now, for I have seen Coldplay in the flesh.

A really poor example of how awesome the concert was last night. Taken in the nosebleeds by my crappy digital camera

I can't even start to babble incoherently about last night's concert, because I'm still in a state of absolute shock. Alby and I have been hyperventilating about seeing Coldplay for months now. It was every bit as awesome as we expected it to be and then some. A few random musings, as you can read loads of reviews by professionals here and for the previous night's show here.

1. I am very glad that I trusted my better judgment and took my binoculars despite the jeering.
People weren't laughing when the show started though. We had crap seats, and that mofo was powerful enough that I could see the rings on Chris Martin's hands and Richard Ashcroft's pasty white feet and funny looking toes.

2. Richard Ashcroft is a badass.
I could have seen controller.controller eight times with the amount of money I spent on my Coldplay ticket. If the opening act was crappy, this would have made me question the value of my investment. However I didn't find myself in that situation, because Richard Ashcroft brought the house down. Even though he is ridiculously gangly and all sorts of fug, I wish he had taken his aviator glasses off. I thought my head was going to explode when he ended his set off with Bittersweet Symphony. I have loved The Verve since I was a brat in the 90s, they were an absolutely essential part of my BritPop experience. I totally agree with the writer of this article, if circumstances had been different and members of the band had been able to get their shit together, it could have EASILY been The Verve headlining at the ACC last night.

3. I enjoyed the show in all of its sell-outy goodness.
When you're an indie snob, it's a given that you a) never EVER admit to enjoying mainstream bands and b) never go and see said band in an stadium for a concert. I saw screw that. Seeing as how I had never been to a mother concert that had 17,000 people in attendance and all the requisite pyrotechnics, I was utterly floored by the whole experience. I'll definitely be buying the DVD when it comes out.

4. Chris Martin made me feel like a lard
I think it's wrong that a 29 year old man should be so thin and rubber-like. But perhaps that's jealousy on my part, I can't imagine being able to do all the running, leaping and jumping he did over the course of the evening let alone two nights in a row for the entire tour. Must be all the yoga he does with the wifey.

5. Alby did not provide me with waterworks or any other form of hysterics, and for that I was disappointed.
When we got past the hissing scalpers and managed to get inside of the ACC we were greeted by loudspeakers piping out The Scientist which is our favourite Coldplay song of all time. Alby started to get teary eyed, and I looked on with glee thinking that the evening's waterworks were getting underway a littele earlier than anticipated. She totally psyched me out, I don't know what's going on, but Alby's becoming a hard ass. She didn't weep, pass out, or do anything remotely Albyish. Although I'm hoping it's because she was inhaling drugs during Richard Ashcroft's set.

6. Played the best game of 'spot the brown' ever.
As you know, a favourite leisure activity of ours was to play a little game called 'spot the brown' where you'd count the amount of brown people in a specific locale. Most times, I would be the only one. Coldplay was a sea of white, I don't think I saw a single black person in there, unless they were the big burly security guys forcing people to throw out their potentially lethal bottled water. However there was a smattering of brown, we had three guys sitting in the row ahead of us, the horribly stereotypical type. You know wearing pressed severely pleated khakis and dress shirts in some variation of indigo blue. They were also responsible for getting two rows in our section baked. That's right, they were smoking up at a Coldplay concert.

7. I don't know how to WOOOO properly
I can't sing. Therefore it should come as no surprise that I can't even do a fangirl scream properly. I either yell in my normal voice range, or one that is so high it can shatter glass. Since Alby was sick last night and wasn't deafening me with her screams, she was able to hear the horror which I inflicted on the greater Coldplay audience.

8. Stop with the PDA.
I don't care if you're TomKat or another dog sniffing Ollie's nether regions, PDA is i) so trashy and b) so unwanted. If I wanted to watch someone being groped in public I'd go to a club in Woodbridge.

Quips
A special Coldplay version of quips. (I know, I haven't done this in a long while)

Richard Ashcroft: Everything is about branding, I used to be McVerve, but now I'm known as Cocashcroft

Alby and I simultaneously: Oh gosh, who ever knew he had a son let alone a wife! (upon hearing that it was Richard Ashcroft's son Sonny's 6th birthday yesterday. For those of you who care, they were at the zoo yesterday and they saw porcupines and what Ashie thought was a chimpanzee, but turned out to be an orangutan. He dedicated a song to both his son and wife Kate)

Chris Martin: (During God Put a Smile Upon Your Face) God gave you style and gave you the Arcade Fire (!!!!)

Chris Martin: Playing with Richard Ashcroft is like if the Beatles played with Michael Bolton. That's how huge this is.

Chris Martin: Good-bye Toronto, see you in a few years.
Alby and I: BOO.

Tool: (In a post-show convo) Who the hell is Richard Ashcroft?! I've never even heard of him.

And this was supposed to be a short post. If you've stuck this far you must be a real Coldplay fan. Click here to see the rest of my (crappy) clips from the concert, and here to see someone else's amazing photos from the show on the 22nd. I've posted some pictures as well, but you all know where to look for those.

I predict a riot.

Watching the people get lairy
Is not very pretty I tell thee
Walking through town is quite scary
And not very sensible either
A friend of a friend he got beaten
He looked the wrong way at a policeman
- The Kaiser Chiefs

Shut up. I know. This song is about Leeds. I'm not the only music snob. But I'm still going to talk about France because I think the lyrics are pretty apropos. In reality, I don't have that much to say that hasn't already been said before. North African immigrants reacting to racism. Pretty straight forward to me.

Marietta was one of my English students during my three months in Senegal. She was a little bit older than I was and had a 2 year old son, I never met him, he lived in the village with her mother. She didn't get a chance to see him all that much, she worked 7 days a week and used to come for help with her English homework after she was finished her day job. Marietta was a housemaid, and on the side she used to sell beaded necklaces which the expat community would snap up readily and greedily.

One thing that I particularly liked about Marietta other than her friendliness was that she spoke French with a perfect Parisian accent. Something that was really uncommon to find amongst the native Senegalaise. She was always a really welcome sight to me during my first few weeks in Dakar especially on Sundays at church where the usual suspects were a touch too snooty to speak to me. It took me awhile to get used to the Wolof accent which was inflected on the every day common French. In the beginning I wasn't all that curious as to why the Bowlers' house maid had such an impeccable Parisian accent.

Her father had a few wives, polygamy just like in Utah, is still practiced in many parts of North Africa. Marietta's dad left her along with her mother and took off for France with his latest wife. Some how or another she ended up joining her father in a suburb of Paris. She was about 13 and her new life in France consisted of 5 years of horrible physical abuse at the hands of her father and stepmother.

In the hot dusty afternoons, we used to sit outside to do our English classes. I'd lug out the massive copy of LaRousse which Mrs. Penney used when she was doing her MA in Quebec, and while trying to translate my lesson for her Marietta used to tell me bits and pieces about her life. She credits her social worker in France with saving her. When I met her she had been back in Senegal for just over 2 years (slightly enough time to get knocked up and have a kid). It was her social worker who suggested that she return to Dakar, realising that if she stayed on in France she'd most likely get beaten to death. Instead of just bundling her off on a Dakar bound plane she really went beyond her call of duty. She provided Marietta with all of the necessary correspondence booklets to finish off her French high school education. The social worker paid for it all out of her own pocket. (I was only useful for her English lessons, Mrs. Penney used to help her out with everything else, because I was hopeless and still am.) Marietta has the option of returning to France after she graduates from high school and no longer is a dependent on her father.

Mehdi was a first generation Frenchmen, his family was originally from Morocco. It's because of him that I'm dying to see Marrakesh with my own eyes. He only arrived towards the latter half of my stay, and we had to collaborate on a bunch of projects together. Although I found him mildly irritating we did have some really eye opening conversations. Mehdi was unwilling to pay any attention at all to his Moroccan heritage. Granted this is not uncommon, I know a bunch of Sri Lankans who'd sooner than later forget that they come for a hot, tropical, third world country and not the snowy wilderness of Ontario. But the way he used to vehemently deny that he was Moroccan, it smacked of 'the lady doth protest too much.'

What does this all mean? I'm not really sure and I don't think I'm some sort of a cultural authority on Franco-North African relations just because I spent a fair chunk of time in Senegal and am studying post-colonial history. (If I lived in America, I think I'd have enough credentials and bull shit in me to be a pundit on Fox News though.) It's much more complicated than that, and as the recent events in various different suburbs in Paris proves, it's also very unpredictable.

I wonder though, could what the civil rights movement of the 50s and 60s did for America be likened to the riots that are currently rocking France?

A Round-up

This has nothing to do with my post. I just thought it was pretty cool. Read about it this morning, here's the article on the Beeb.

Umm. So my life generally is wholly uninteresting. I'm painfully aware of this fact already. The only thing that I really can do is bemoan this fact to everyone and anyone. It truly is cathartic. Sometimes even my life spirals into even more uninterestingness than it normally is prone to.

Case in point. The last two weeks the film festival was going on. Aside from the obligatory celebrity sightings I had to deal with the pointless entourages. I find that the bigger the star, the smaller the entourage. At least in Toronto. The most random people have entourages. And more power to you if you want a bunch of freeloaders strapped to your backside. To each one his own. I go to U of T, and even the most suburbian amongst us know that this campus is smack dab in the middle of the film festival, and all the swanky hotels/restaurants to boot. Which means I had to fight my way through entourages to get to my classes on time. Dude? So. Not. Cool.

My beloved Mac has packed up. I'm just praying that it's not the cursed ibook lcd screen malfunction. Because if it is, I think I'll cry. Fortunately I just lost my first week of notes for class. I would've committed suicide by now if it was December and right before mid-terms. Unfortunately I've lost a lot of other more important things. Such as reports for work. Which now need to be redone. Yay for punitive justice. Because I believe that's what's being waged against me.

Oliver tried to eat a wasp. In the process he got severely stung. I never said he was smart. After a trip to the vet we have discovered that someone is having a 'type 2' reaction and therefore has to take prednisone. A tablet which we need to creatively hid in foodstuffs, otherwise it runs the risk of being spat up on the kitchen floor. I never said he was smart.

While being recruited for the Tamil Student's Association, I wasn't hit on this year. Thank the Lord. Perhaps it's too early to celebrate, because I'm yet to be approached by the South Asian Student's Association. You know I think I wouldn't mind the unwarranted attention as much if it wasn't for the fact that I am a fob magnet. Children? Speaking fluent English is always a prerequisite.

I'm still in my PJs and have bed head. Time to go and administer a prednisone laced carrot.

A Really Late Afterthought Part 1: Politics

Quit bending all my fingo
Quit beating me like you're Ringo
You wanna go?
You wanna win a war?
Like P.L.O don't surrendo
- M.I.A. Sunflowers

So if my grade 10 level math serves me correctly it has been two months since I came home from what could be considered the best trip to Sri Lanka ever. It has also taken me just as long to fully process two months spent in the motherland. Maybe it's because I've been spending a little too much one-on-one time with some politically charged press releases and reports I'm editing for work, but I think it's time to wade into Sri Lankan politics. As you can see this is 'part 1' of what will eventually be a really poorly thought out and sporadic series. I guess I'll be lucky if it doesn't peter out and die by the end of this post. But here goes...

*Warning: To my four loyal readers* This is pretty much a rehash of my last post. But it's my blog, and I can do what I want.

I wanted to blog about M.I.A. since February when she played the Drake, mostly because she irritated me. I did feel a bit of affliation with her because she grew up in England and has the whole indie thing down. And she has a killer style (or incredible stylist, but it might be too soon for that). I personally don't think her music is anything to call home about, her artwork however is really good. I think she should stick to designing CD covers. But the scenesters love her, and that's why I think in a weirdly subversive way, she's important to this post. You see they play 'Sunflowers' in American Eagle, Aiya got me a sampler CD from the Urban Outfitter's in Montreal and 'Galang' was on it. What's the big deal? Well her debut album Arular is named after her father who happens to be a member of the LTTE. He trained with the PLO . M.I.A. doesn't shy away from politics regardless of what she may say in the media, just look at her website, look at what her artwork is depicting?

I know I might be over hyping on her politics/political affliation but still. Do you think if folks out here truly understood the level of the conflict in Sri Lanka she'd be such hot indie property? Probably not, it's not like someone with Al Qaeda affliation is going to have a huge cult following when they launch a crappy dancehall album either. But she has a right to speak her mind about the politics of the war, after all she has been totally affected by it, just like many other Tamil immigrants in other parts of the world. What freaks me out though is that through her popularity she might be romanticizing the LTTE. Granted I think the Tamil people of Sri Lanka have a reason to be pissed off, but that doesn't legitimize the actions of the LTTE. 'Freedom Fighter' has a certain ring to it, a Che Guevera kind of thing that poorly groomed hipsters LOVE. A frightening result of that misguided love would be a romanticization of the Tiger movement.

Recently there have been a few 'skirmishes' on some Sri Lankan blogs I frequent about the role of non-resident Sri Lankans putting their two cents into political commentary. I'm of the opinion that just because I grew up in Canada doesn't mean that negates me from having a viable and legitimate opinion on things. Whether it be the recent assassination or the on going 'armed conflict.' It's unfortunate that there are people in Colombo who believe that since we grow up in the relative shelter of the west we have no understanding/haven't been touched by what's going on in Sri Lanka.

Even if I didn't have the chance to go back and visit as often as I do it is because of the events that have taken place in Sri Lanka that I'm here, in Toronto. If the 83 riots never happened, we would never have left. I have had classmates in elementary and junior high school whose lives have been absolutely ravaged because of the situation in Sri Lanka. The internal politics and issues have effected them far more than my cousins who are Sinhalese and live in Colombo far removed from any conflict could feel. Yet there are some in Sri Lanka who would rather listen to my Colombo cousins' take on things. Even though they go to posh schools, and live in what seems to be the lap of luxury.

To tell you the truth though, even after working at an NGO in Colombo which was dealing very specifically with government corruption, I still don't understand a whole lot about Sri Lankan politics. Just when I thought I had wrapped my brains around the method to the madness, it would elude me completely like the Scarlet Pimpernel. At least I have a bit of a better grasp on it, albeit a rather tenuous one.

"Come on Trinitians, be sporty!"*

*translation: Come on you guys who went to Trinity College, have some sportsmanship!

Well kiddos, as soon as I get the beloved Mac checked out and serviced I'll post pictures of what I've been up to. Trying to explain would be too painful for both you and I.

I went to the rugby sevens tournament this weekend with thathi. What a washout, we drove all the way to Brampton to stand in the rain and get wet socks. It was good times. In the past I've attempted to explain the nature of the 'Old Boys Association' which is just the Sri Lankan way of saying 'alumni association.' Thathi is an 'old boy' of St. Thomas' College (STC) and in the interest of hooking up with some old classmates off we went.

It's always fun watching the uncles get hammered on smuggled beer and start yelling indecipherable things at rivals. This year they had the most teams represented so there was plenty of trash talking. The above quote was a result of the perfect mix of booze and unbridled STC pride after a drunk Trinitian hurled insults at our coach. Fortunately a big burly Peterite (St.Peter's) was there to stop the sloshed uncle from rushing the field.

Incidentally this was the first exclusively Sri Lankan gathering that I've been to since coming home. (And no. Church doesn't count!) It was nice to hear people chatting away in Sinhala and it reminded me how the gap between my dual identities are beginning to fill in, the distance to bridge is getting smaller. While this process of reconciliation between the Sri Lankan and Canadian is great, in some ways it blows as much as being confused did.

Something that struck me while in Colombo was the general narrowmindedness of some folks back in Sri Lanka. Especially in relation to how 'Sri Lankan' I actually am, or more appropriately, not. I don't think that it's an issue that can be quantified but it's interesting to see how people attempt to do so.

My Canadian accent was accused of being fake by more than one person. Apparently it's unusual for someone who has lived in Toronto for 18 years to speak like me. Although my Sinhala was good enough to get by it's far from perfect but never once was I laughed at when I tried to speak with someone who had no knowledge of English. You can just imagine the reactions I got from the English speaking populace. Something along the lines of when Copto busts out his French immersion skills to me. What really gets my quince however is the constant need I felt in having to assert my 'Sri Lankaness.' At first I didn't mind, but then it became downright irritating.

Things aren't like that here for us. Come on, think about it. If you happen to be reading this then chances are I know you. If I know you then chances are you're either an immigrant like me or a second generation Canadian. And due to the wickedly mutlicultural nature of the society we've grown up in, for someone to be Indo-Canadian, Irish-Canadian or any other hyphenated variation thereof, it's not crazy for us to not only view them as true Canadians but also accept them as that. No questions asked. No skill testing question. No language based examination.

Wish I could say the same for the motherland.

Oh yeah. Trinity got their ass kicked in by St. Thomas' 29-0. And Thathi was thinking 'blue, black and blue forever.'

Resort fun circa 1986

l-r Aiya, me and Gunther

I was digitizing a whole bunch of pictures last weekend. They were all really old school, from 1988 and earlier. Our entire life before we came to Canada pretty much. Most of the photographs are getting fuzzy and faded especially the colour ones from the 70s, but you know the old cliche "a picture is worth a thousand words." Most of them are really goofy, you know the usual collection of family photographs, nothing really profound exactly like our lives. As I was going through them though, I was struck by the above photo. Ammi had just gone to L.A. or to London (i don't remember which) and she was gone for about a month, so she and Thathi decided that we would go down south to a resort for a couple of days to spend some time together as a family. Aiya of course made fast friends with another little boy whom he spent most of our vacation with. His name was Gunther and he was visiting from Germany, he didn't speak any English and aiya didn't speak any German. They were pretty much insperable. Whenever Gunther's mom wanted to find him, she'd come to ammi and ask in broken English where he was, and Ammi did the same thing when she was looking for aiya. (Except not in broken English. I hope so at least.)

Even though this picture was taken almost 20 years ago, I couldn't but help thinking about the tsunami. It didn't take pictures of orphans in the newspapers, or black and bloated dead bodies on the internet for the gravity of the situation to hit me at a personal level. It was the picture of the three of us innocently smiling that did it for me. I wonder how many other little Gunthers and Erajs had become fast friends during an idyllic trip to the beaches of the south. It makes me go cold thinking about it. Not to be dramatic or anything, but that's what sealed the deal for me.

Speaking of tsunamis though, I think the current death toll is at 220,000. It's mind boggling to know that a lot of those deaths could have been prevented if there was a proper tsunami warning system in place. The amount of money that ordinary people are pouring out for relief is incredible too. I witnessed it first hand myself when i was taking phone pledges at the Canada for Asia benefit concert. There are some incredibly generous individuals out there. I was watching a documentary on the genocide in Sudan last nigt on the CBC called Living with Refugees. It was incredibly thought provoking. 300,000 people have died so far in the genocide there, and there are a further 2 million refugees. (That count doesn't include the amount of internally displaced people.) Here is another 'disaster' that could be averted. It's not as if people don't care, they do care, but it's difficult to get the attention of the neccessary people in government. Because really who are we kidding? Why should any of the Western nations help those in the Darfur region? There's absolutely no political gain to be had. Canada is more than willing to help with the tsunami relief efforts though. But only in Sri Lanka, even though Indonesia was the hardest hit area. Gee. I wonder why that would be. It probably has nothing to do with the huge Sri Lankan immigrant population in some of the key cities across Canada. I wonder how many votes the Liberals would be able to extract out of the Sudanese-Canadians?

*climbing off soapbox*

Sri Lanka matha, apa Sri Lanka namu namu namu namu matha, Sundara siri barini*

Last night I was watching CBC's "Greatest Canadian" special. They're out to find the greatest Canadian according to the regular population. It's really fascinating (no really, it is), last night they went through the top 50 nominees and some of the people that were on the list, were names I remember because they're considered "important" but that's about it. I was drawing a blank as to what their contributions were. There were the obvious ones, like Alexander Graham Bell. Sandford Fleming was on the list too, I had no clue who he was, the place where I had all my psych exams last year were in a building that had the same name, that's as far as my knowledge went on him though. Anyways, turns out he's the man who standardised time! Go figure eh?
(*sigh* remember Heritage Minutes? They're online now! You can WATCH them and relive the "Burnt Toast" moment as if you were still in grade 3! And you can learn more about Sandford Fleming too. It's win, win)

Internally Displaced
(- Feel free to skip this, I promise, it will make your eyes bleed and you will have sudden urges to stab yourself with small pointed objects. Trust me. I did.)
{This morning in my French class we had a laboratoire, and we had to listen to a thing about Mordecai Richler "L'héritage d'un grand écrivain." Yeah, who has time to think coherently on a Monday morning let alone in French. Anyways since Richler was a Jew who grew up in Montreal, he had this sense of duality. I think that's a trait that all "immigrant" kids feel. I'm not just a Canadian. And I'm not just a Sri Lankan. Canadians don't view me as a "real" Canadian, and Sri Lankans don't think I'm really Sri Lankan. It's almost as if I'm in limbo, living in a parallel "bizarro" world.** The best way to put it is that I sometimes feel like I'm an internally displaced person. I'm not the only one, and it's always interesting to meet other immigrant kids who feel the same way. I think we're the better for having those two distinct cultures and mindsets living in one body. At times yes, it's like a complex form of schizophrenia. But then again you can't have everything.

Sometimes I wonder where to draw the line. Our family isn't hardcore paked out, and I don't think it's b/c we "assimilated." Even back in the motherland we weren't hard core. The other day on my way home on the subway I was chatting to an acquaintance of mine who I went to Jr. High with. She's Sri Lankan too, but jebus, our families could be from two different planets. She was so surprised that we were not steeped in the whole arranged marriage culture. I told her that none of the people in my parents social circle had arranged marriages. I didn't think it was that much of a big deal. That whole issue of dealing with parents who are totally far out there (like hers) was never ever a problem with our parents. Even after they became Christians they're still really liberal minded, more liberally minded than some of the non-religious parents i know. I'm glad that my parents never forced us to go to Sinhala classes, one of the pluses of being a minority in a hugely Tamil Sri Lankan population. (Then again though they brought Piyo [my childhood nanny] to Canada to teach us Sinhala. We ended up teaching her English. What. She was a fast learner!) Sometimes i feel like a traitor because I can't speak it. When I went to Senegal i felt so guilty b/c I could speak French better than my own "mother tongue" (lol and my French SUCKS, Gina can back this up). I try to embrace as much of my "culture" as I can, but sometimes it feels so overwhelming. I don't try to run away from it like Salman Rushdie's Saladin Chamcha from The Satanic Verses or Michael Ondaatje's Anil Tissera from Anil's Ghost. (Both are amazing books! Go and read them.) I'm trying to juggle and walk in that middle ground all at the same time, where I can still listen to the music I like and wear the clothes that I like without being termed "white washed." Yeah we always joke around about how I am, but if I was more like my compatriots and listened to Hip Hop, R and B, dancehall, and wore clothes from Stitches, would I still be washed? Pfffft. (*shudder* i'm going cold just imagining that)}

Esto Perpetua
I like to see Sri Lankan people succeed and get recognition for their work. So what would that be? Me feeling patriotic or rooting for the underdog (like Greece at the EuroCup?) Who cares. I saw this article on the BBC and it made me happy. Home Truths For Sri Lankan Film. On the subject of Sri Lankans in general. I love Michael Ondaatje. Not only is he a Sri Lankan, but he also did some growing up here in Toronto. (Read some of his early poetry, there's a lot about the city in it.) He doesn't come across as someone who champions his roots, especially in interviews and stuff. But it's obvious that he is aware of them. (He wrote an entire book about it ;)) I wonder what he "does" to keep himself in check with Sri Lanka. He's burgher, so maybe he likes to berate people in Sinhala like my parents do (apparently it's the only way to successfully malign someone). I know for a that he doesn't take huge pride in his Alma Mater. He's an almunist of St. Thomas' College (if I had gone there, I wouldn't blame him from not participating, that many Sri Lankans in one place is just dangerous). Like Thathi and Aiya. Funny thing is I don't ever remember him showing up to the children's Christmas parties! He would have made a MUCH better Santa Clause than my bribed and humiliated brother. (Who was in the height of his rugby days, so he didn't even have the fat to pull it off unlike now.) And let's not forget that right of passage, the "Big Match" aka getting a chance to watch all our decrepit fathers take to the field for a game of cricket against their arch-rivals Royal College. If he came to that, the social secretary would probably have combusted. Good ol' Uncle Chicko. There is always hope that he might grace them with an appearance at the "Thomian Dance." LOL talk about trying to relive your youth. A bunch of past-their-prime old Sri Lankans getting together to relive their high school prom. It's hurting. Trust me. I'm glad that I left you with such a sweet mental image.

*First three lines of the Sri Lankan national anthem
Translation:
Mother Lanka - We salute thee!
Plenteous in prosperity, Thou,
Beautous in grace and love.
(Entire lyrics and translation)

**Remember that episode of Seinfeld with Bizarro Jerry? :)

Calling All Pakis

Please let me introduce you to Kraftwerk, agruably the best synth group ever...here is their ode to  le Tour de France.

Tour de France (Etapes 1, 2, et 3)

Tour de France

Radio Tour information

Transmission television

Reportage sur moto

Camera, video et photo

Les equipes presentees

Le depart est donne

Les etapes sont brulees

Et la course est lanceeTour de France

Les coureurs chronometres

Pour l'epreuve de verite

La montagne les vallees

Les grands cols les defiles

La flamme rouge depassee

Maillot Jaune a l'arrivee

Radio Tour information

Transmission television

Tour de France

 

For those of you who know French...sorry...I couldn't get any of the accents in! 

Now for those of you who are unilingual...the translation:

 

Tour de France

Radio Tour information

Broadcast television

Reports on motor bikes

Video camera and photo

The teams are introduced

The start is given

The stages are burnt

And the race is underway

Tour de France

The timed riders

For the truth trial

The mountains, the valleys

The great cols, the defiles

The red flag is overtaken

Yellow jersey at the finish

Radio Tour information

Broadcast television

Tour de France

 

Good luck Lance!!!!

 

State Farm Insurance + Pakis = Scarborough

More news from the workforce!  Here's an e-mail that I got today, which made me laugh.  I'm thinking of putting this on the bulletin board at church ;) 

Subject: Casting Call - Lights, Camera, Action - I need your help

State Farm has an immediate need to recruit culturally specific talent to appear in photos for some new marketing materials. We are seeking representatives from a variety of South Asian cultures, including India, Pakistan, Bangladesh and Sri Lanka to name a few, between the ages of 10-70

If you know anyone who is interested in being talent for State Farm print and video work please have them call or email me for more information and to book an appointment for the casting call.
We are holding casting calls next Tues and Wed between 10am and 8pm at 100 Consilum Place (State Farm building across Scarborough Town Centre).  The appt will take approx 15 min - you can come in groups.  We will take a head shot and do some videography.  

The photoshoot will take place in Toronto from Aug 23 - 28, 2004.  If you are selected, you will be compensated $20 US/hour for your time 

Please pass this on to any of your friends and family that might be interested - especially children, parents and grandparents.  Thanks for your support .   
Cheers

Email Address : rehana.damji.idcn@statefarm.com 
Phone Number:  416.290.4324 
Rehana Damji Canadian Zone Marketing Analyst State Farm ®

If anyone's interested call her and let her know or hit me up.  Labro you're still South Asian right?  At least the last time I checked ;)

 

Bubbles?!

Yesterday I had to come home via the good old TTC.  The Subway was disgusting because the car I was in had no airconditioning and I was wearing a black blazer which I couldn't take off due to the deoderant I got on the bottom of it in the morning.  As usual I was a goner by the time we hit Castle Frank station.  Things got a little more exciting on the bus ride home though.  Long story short I saw a little girl who could have EASILY pass off as Bubble's daughter!!  She had the same glasses, but her's were sparkly pink :D  It was great, I couldn't stop staring at her, she was like 9 and was wearing all pink, but man...she would've made a great addition to the show b/c she belonged in a Trailer Park annnd she was super cute.  To top it all off I had my favorite bus driver, she's so nice and always talks to me...the best part of it all is that she looks like Blondie, who I love :)  I'm not alone on this either, ask Gina and she'll vouch for me.

 

I took Oliver to meet Rocky, our neighbor.  We were in the backyard and Rocky chased him and he almost fell into the pool, luckily he stopped just in time.  My heart was in my throat!  On a lighter note, Aiya's back from Algonquin!!  Which isn't really earth shattering because I most likely won't see him until Saturday anyways :P